Date: Mon, 21 Feb 2000 12:19:38 -0800 (PST) From: Dewey Subject: For the Love of Pete Prelude/Chapter 1 This story is a work of erotic fiction involving teenage boys. All the usual rules apply. If you shouldn't be reading this now then don't continue on. Copyright Notice - This story is copyright by the author and the author retains all rights. You may distribute copy, or print this story however you like, PROVIDED this copyright notice remains intact and you do not change the story in any way. Also you may not charge any fee to anyone to distribute or access this story. Prelude Lets see. I think I was eight or nine when I started to look at boys as something more than potential friends. It started with my friend Robert. He was a year younger than me, having dirty blond hair, a cherubic face and just a touch more than baby fat. We were wrestling on a hot summer day and we both were in shorts with no shirt. He eventually got on top and pinned me using his whole body. I didn't know why at the time, but I loved the feeling of him on top of me, his bare chest and mine touching with his weight on me. Even to this day I love the touch of bare skin to my chest, stomach, and of course, further on down. I don't remember having an erection, but I am sure I must have. We did that several times until Robert started to get uncomfortable wrestling with me. We just didn't wrestle any more. Eventually, about a year after we stopped wrestling, I moved away from my home town to Vancouver, Washington. It turned out that we were only going to be there a year since my Dad got laid off at the plywood mill he worked at. I was in the fourth grade when I moved away, just ten years old. But it was up in Vancouver that my sexual education really began. Literally. The school system up there started teaching sex in the fourth grade. It was there I heard the words semen, erection, and orgasm for the first time. I overheard my parents one night trying to decide whether to allow me to attend or not. I think they let me see the films because it was easier than having to talk to me themselves. I had friends up there, eventually. But one person stands out in my memory. His name was Stan. He was named after his father, had his blond hair in a bowl haircut (I must be attracted to blonds, eh?), and wore what I call birth control glasses (thick rims usually in an ugly brown color). He was, like me, a geek. We were both intelligent and small for our age which made us easy targets for the intellectually challenged. So we naturally took to each other right away. Toward the end of my time in Vancouver, our fifth grade session of sex ed went into more detail regarding the function of the plumbing and what came out and when. This, while just technical information, was vaguely arousing in some form. Stan and I would play act having girlfriends and getting caught in the act by her father or something like that. We never actually did anything other than playact. I enjoyed his company more than anyone else up to that point in my life because we were equals in all ways that mattered. But my Dad did get laid off and we had to move back to my home town. My homecoming was difficult. I knew everybody, but I didn't. It was like I was in suspended animation and woke up a year later with everybody aging a year with out me. I still didn't know much about sex, but it seemed that everyone else was messing around and kissing. I didn't know how to react to this, so I didn't, and acted like this adolescent behavior was behind me. Then I met Pete. Pete was a year older than I was but we were still in the same grade. He was a trombone player in our school band. Of average height and average build, he did look good. All the girls definitely noticed him. He was more popular than I, having played on the football and basketball teams. His dad was the Scoutmaster of our pack, so everyone in the Scouts knew him. His dad, Joe, was also a fireman for the town we lived in, very big on the male scene. In his mid forties, he still had a youthful appearance, and kept himself in shape. Slightly gray at the temples, he none the less had a full head of hair and a chiseled face. He was into all of the macho stuff, like cars, hunting, fishing and such. Intellectual pursuits were not his forte. Pete's mom was a stay at home housewife like June Cleaver. In her early forties, she seemed the perfect wife. Blond hair and a pretty face, she liked to dress well even for the housework. When Pete asked Brenda about it one time, she said she like to look nice for his father. I somehow got the feeling that she didn't approve of me, but allowed Pete to make his own choice of friends. From all appearances Pete's family seemed perfect. A real man for a father, the devoted mother and housewife, the smart and beautiful child. We found out later that not everything was idyllic as they would have us believe. Pete and I somehow became friends. I don't remember how. But we ended up spending a lot of time together. By the beginning of the seventh grade, we were inseparable, being in several of the same classes. We sat by each other in every class, at least until the teachers split us up. We would eat lunch together, play on the same team in PE if we had a choice. And we would split our weekends, one at his house and the next at mine. We would spend those weekend days out in the woods playing army or something else equally silly. We would have pinecone fights (it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye), catch tadpoles or frogs, whittle branches into small spears, generally do what twelve and thirteen year old boys do. We would talk about girls and sex and get terribly excited. I realize now it was because he was talking about sex that I got excited, not because of the girls we were talking about. It was all very innocent teen fantasies. I can't speak for him, but I was thinking almost exclusively about boys at this time, but our conversations always had a girl in them. Sometimes I got lost in the conversation because I was staring at him marveling at his beauty. I am still surprised he never caught on when he had to repeat himself so many times. Neither of us up to this point had any sexual experience, relying instead on locker room stories and Penthouse letters. That is what we used as a reference for our conversations, using crude slang for the parts of the body. We did this because we both believed it was expected. If we didn't talk about girls or a girl and a guy together than we thought we would be labeled gay or queer or a fag. We were both afraid to tell each other how we really felt, I think. But that did change. Pete had a face that would turn heads, male or female, gay or straight, anywhere in between. His skin was always tanned to a perfect shade. This was his natural skin tone, and not from the sun (I found that out later when I saw he had no tan lines). He had started working out when he joined the football team about a year before we became friends, so he had a perfect body or so it seemed to me. He had a sexy six pack, well defined pecs and arms. He had a great set of legs and a butt to die for. And that smile! With his dirty blond hair (there it is again!), now I know why I wanted to be around him. My name is Brian. At that time, I was short, skinny, and running behind in the muscle department. At just over five feet and eighty pounds, I think I was the smallest person in the entire seventh grade, and was the smallest boy up to my junior year in high school, when I hit my growth spurt, such as it was. Anyway, other than my height, I was average looking. I have brown hair that goes straight no matter what angle it comes out of my head (I keep it nearly buzzed for this reason), a lot of freckles, and pits in my face when I smile. A joke we have is for him to ask what that flash of light through my cheeks was when I smile. When he says that it makes me smile even more, so I never hear the end of it. In January of our seventh grade year, Pete got a girlfriend. Her name was Ashley. I was crushed. He started to spend more of his time with her and less with me. This was to be expected, but I didn't know what to do with myself when I was left to my own devices. I grew restless and bored. I let myself get absorbed in books and computer games so I didn't have to think about Pete or how miserable I was with out him. When baseball season rolled around, I tried out for the team and made it. I dedicated myself to becoming the best player I could, but that was just another way to keep my mind off of him. It came to the point where we stopped hanging out all together. I saw him in the hallways and he would flash that cute grin and say, "Hi, Bri." I hated it. And I really hated Ashley. I didn't even look at her. I would go out of my way to avoid them in the halls. The pain was just too great. Eventually, I stopped trying to talk to Pete at all and he didn't seem to notice. As I said earlier, I was an intelligent person, and a shrimp. I went through more than my share of abuse heaped on by classmates, especially the popular guys that had to prove they are tough, that they are a man. I was teased, pushed, beat up, denigrated, derided, however you want to put it. This started all the way back in kindergarten and continued up until my sophomore year when I threatened to castrate my worst antagonist at Pete's urging, but I digress. What I ended up getting out of all this zero self worth. I don't think you can have a lower self image. That is why, to this day, I have a hard time believing that Pete chose me to share his life with; I just wasn't deserving enough to have someone that special love me. My parents knew that I was having some trouble at school, going as far as getting me a counselor, who was worthless by the way. Other than that, the 'rents just let me be. Still do, as a matter of fact. Don't even talk to me most of the time. Yup, they pretty much emotionally abandoned me. But that is another story. Maybe I'll tell you sometime. Chapter One By the end of the seventh grade, Ashley and Pete had split up. I heard it through the grape vine. Neither of them seemed to want to talk about it, not that I asked Ashley. I came up behind Pete one day about a week before the end of school. He had his hands above his locker and his head inside like he was looking for a book or something. "Hey Pete." He didn't respond to me, so I thought he hadn't heard me. I stepped closer and repeated my call. He half turned his head and then turned back, wiping his arm across his eyes. He turned around and gave me a half-hearted grin and said "Hey." I saw tears welling up in his eyes. He looked like he had been crying for a while by the look of his swollen eyes and the stains on his shirtsleeve. Immediately, all I felt for him before his girlfriend returned to me. I was worried. I had never seen him cry before, except when he broke his collarbone in the sixth grade playing tackle football in the vacant lot. "What's wrong man?" He sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes again. He definitely was unhappy. He is usually cheerful, almost to the point of being painful to be around. There was no sign of that person in Pete at this moment. "Nothing, I'm OK." The tears in his eyes and the quiver in his bottom lip said differently, though. I looked at him with real concern on my face, and took a step closer. "You sure? You want to talk?" He nodded his head with a resigned expression on his face. "After school, OK?" That was more than two hours from now. I shook my head, indicating I wanted to talk to m now. "We'll be late for class," he said as he wiped his eyes again. This was killing me. I hated seeing him in pain. "Hey Jameson, why are you crying? You miss your mommy?" Great just what he needed. Brent Smith was the resident tough guy and was usually in the company of a pack of wannabes. We were lucky this time; he was alone. "Fuck off, Brent." He looked at me as he walked toward me. He raised his hand and casually shoved me into the lockers. He was twice my weight and about a foot taller than I was, so it didn't take much effort for him to move me. "What did you say? I don't think I heard you correctly." His eyes were full of menace and his fist had a real good grip on my shirt. I just gave him a blank stare, the kind I give my parents when they say something that makes me so angry I want to scream, but don't because anger was never allowed in our house. "I thought so. If you ever say anything like that to me again," he said, punctuating every word by slamming me against the locker, " I will take you apart and smear you across the parking lot." With one last shove I hit the lockers. He had picked me up by my shirt and literally threw me against them, causing a combination dial to hit me in the back making me wince. I was going to have a few bruises. Pete spoke up. "Leave him alone. And fuck off, Brent." Brent just looked at him and sneered. Pete wasn't afraid of Brent and Brent knew it. "Crybaby." With that Brent walked away, calling to his pack down the hall. Pete gathered some books from his locker and shut the door. Pete and I followed a few seconds behind Brent down the hall toward the science wing. As we passed the pack, the snickered as they watched us pass. Pete glared at them as we turned the corner. "Lets skip. I don't think I am going to be able to make it through class." I could once more see tears in his eyes and a depressed look on his face. I didn't hesitate. He was in trouble and needed a friend to talk to. I nodded my head and we walked out of the building toward the high school football field. As we walked further, I took advantage of our privacy. "Dude, you OK? What's wrong?" He just shook his head. Tears were running down his face now, and he was snuffling more. I thought I saw him shake with a sob. This was more serious than I thought. We walked in silence other than his snuffling until we got the bleacher seats, but instead of going up and sitting on them, he went behind them. He looked around and saw nobody else there. He walked up to the brick wall behind the bleachers and leaned against it, resting his forehead on his arm. He started shaking and I could hear him crying softly. I walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder. I could feel him shaking like a leaf. He turned toward me, putting his back to the wall. He slid down to the ground. He rested his arms on his knees and buried his head. His crying was louder now, I could hear him clearly. I knelt beside him. "What's wrong Pete? Talk to me." I put a hand on his knee. He jumped as if shocked. I took my hand away. His shoulders were still shaking with uncontrolled spasms. I turned around and sat next to him, determined to wait him out and get to the bottom of this. He cried like that for another five minutes or so, gradually relaxing his shoulders as the shaking stopped. As he wiped his face with his arm he spoke in a voice so soft that I had to strain to hear him. "I know you hate me, so there's no reason." "I don't hate you!" I interrupted, "Why do you think I hate you?" "Because you have been ignoring me!" The ferocity of his reply surprised me. "Every time I see you in the hall or in the lunchroom or on the playground you turn away! You changed seats in class to be as far away from me as you could! You don't call me anymore! What the fuck am I supposed to think?" I was stunned. Everything he said was true. I did do that to him. It shouldn't have mattered that he had a girlfriend, he still needed his friend. He needed me and I abandoned him. I could feel the beginning of tears in my own eyes and my throat was tight. Great. Another example of how worthless I am as a friend. "I didn't mean to do that. I was jealous of Ashley. I thought you didn't want me as a friend anymore." Tears were rolling down my cheeks and I pawed at them feebly. "Oh, God I'm sorry Pete! Please forgive me! I need your friendship too!" I was rapidly going down hill. Any moment and I 'd be bawling outright too. How odd that I could cry in front of him, but not my parents. "Please don't hate me Pete," I pleaded with him. I looked into his eyes, his liquid blue eyes and saw my reflection in them, and buried my head in my arms. I despised what I saw. I saw a person who was worried about no one but himself. I saw someone that was so self absorbed, he would inflict pain on those he loved the most. But with those same eyes, Pete saw someone completely different. "How could I hate you? I love you." My head jerked up. I looked at him incredulously. Did I hear what I thought I heard? "What did you just say?" Hope burned in my heart. He smiled a weak smile. God he was beautiful, swollen eyes, tear stained cheeks and all. A heavy sigh followed as that smile disappeared. "That is what I came out to tell you. Are you sure you don't hate me? Positive?" I nodded both times, not trusting my voice at the moment. "I hope that what I need to tell you doesn't change that." Again he sighed heavily, and I could see tears again in his eyes. He spoke without any hint of that, though. "Bri, I had a long talk with my mom last night. We talked about Ashley mostly, then me. Ashley was fun for a while, but after a while she wanted to do things. Like we used to talk about, remember?" I nodded. "I thought I wanted to do those things too," he continued softly. "I went over to her house last weekend. Her parents were away. I think they went to Walnut Creek or something. Anyway, we had the house to ourselves and she started to make all the moves. She rubbed me and. all sorts of stuff." He paused to wipe his eyes and looked at me. He saw I was waiting for him to go on and sighed again. "I didn't get excited, Bri! Nothing! I mean, she even took off her clothes and everything! I got embarrassed and left. I walked home." That was quite a haul, I knew. At least five miles. "When I got home Mom asked me what happened, why her mom didn't bring me home." Tears started streaming again, but he ignored them. "I couldn't lie to her, so I told her what happened. At first she was mad and then she looked scared. I told her I didn't want to be gay and she ran out of the room crying! Bri, I don't want to be gay!" He leaned into me and started crying again. All I could do was put my arms around him and hold him tight. My best friend was gay. He liked boys, not girls. That meant I was gay to. That was the first time I ever put a label on myself and it scared me. Badly. I heard all the talk and saw the attitudes. Now they took on a horrible new significance. I started crying because of the fear. He put his arms around me and we sat there crying together, comforting each other, just being there. Pete stopped sobbing a few minutes later and, letting me go, gave me that crooked grin. "What are you crying about?" I looked at him for a second and then looked away, wiping my eyes. "Pete, you said you loved me. How do you love me? Like a friend or like a, um, like more than a friend." He looked me in my eyes, piercing my soul. His gaze never wavered as he said "Bri, I love you. I wanted you to be more than a friend. I have for a long time. But then I realized what that meant. That was one reason I went out with Ashley. I didn't want to be gay." He broke eye contact, looking at his shoes. Another big sigh and a sniffle. "But I am gay and I can't change that. I know that you may hate me and never want to be around me again, but I have to tell you or I won't be able to live with myself. I want you to be my boyfriend. I want you to be with me." He kicked at the gravel we were sitting in, making rocks fly. I couldn't believe my ears. He loved me. He loved ME! I never will understand why he chose me. As I sat there in silence, I studied his form. His hair was wild right now from his crying, and his eyes were puffy. His beautiful face, flushed and tear streaked, was lined with worry. I stared at him for what seemed to be a long time. He started to shift uncomfortably under my gaze. I thought he was going to get up and go, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He looked up at me, fear of rejection in his eyes. "Pete, I don't want to be gay either." Several emotions passed his face at once. Fear, disbelief, relief, joy, love, all within milliseconds of one another. I turned toward him and leaned in closer. "I have loved you since I met you, but I was too stupid to know it. And if I have to be gay to be with you," I said with conviction, "so be it." I moved closer to him and put my lips on his. His initial reaction was to back away, but when he realized what was actually happening, He leaned into me and we kissed for the first time. It was a gentle kiss, full of love and confirming what we both felt for each other. It lasted for eternity and ended all to soon. We backed off far enough that we could look each other in the eyes. I reached for his hands and took them, planning on never letting them go. We looked into the depths of each others soul, communicating our love directly, not through mere words. Neither of us said anything. We just looked at each other, trying to imprint each others face into our mind. I don't think he had ever looked more beautiful than he did on that day. We stayed there until we heard the bell signaling the end of the school. He broke the silence that followed, "I have to catch the bus. Dad's birthday is tonight, and I can't miss it." He leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. I reached out and gathered him to me, pulling his body against mine. I felt his tongue gently brush my lips, like a feather against my skin. And then he jumped up and ran away. "I'll call you!" He looked back over his shoulder and grinned, waving his hand. "Damn he's hot," I thought as I watched his perfect ass run away. ---------------- Constructive criticism and comments gladly accepted. Please e-mail me at dewey2k@yahoo.com. Flames will be deleted.